MY SOULMATE & CONFIDANTE: Twinklebear
TWINKLEBEAR: “Sookybear, I wish you weren’t so guarded with me. What are you afraid of?”
I was afraid of the unknown.
By March of 2016, Twinklebear and I were both aware that we were crazy, mad in love with each other. Yet we were clinging to vines of denial, like lifelines in the jungle, which would prevent our plummeting into the ground of totally devoted love and commitment, which would certainly turn our lives upside down. I admit, that I was more afraid than my sweet Honeybear.
We had even devised secret codes by which we could convey that love we had for each other, and these clever little codes relieved us of the ultimately profound burden, of saying “I love you.”
One of the secret codes Twinklebear and I used to say “I love you” to each other, involved the number 12. Only, we got into the habit of saying it three times, as “12 12 12.”
“L” you see, is the 12th letter of the alphabet, and “L” stands for “love.” And by saying “12 12 12” to each other, we avoided—at least until June 2016—the extremely committed utterance of “I love you.”
No, those three little magic words, we would avoid uttering for months. We each gave a little bit of ourselves to the other, but not all to the other.
Perhaps I held back more than Twinklebear—which is what led to Twinklebear’s moaning about me being “too guarded” with her. By the way, for American readers, “moaning” is synonymous in England with “complaining.”
Before thrashing forward with this memoir, I’d like to interject that while we viewed the utterance of “I love you” as a burden in March of 2016, we now view the freedom of being able to say “I love you” to each other, as a privilege. I certainly feel privileged to be loved by my Honeybear.
March 2016 was a tumultuous period for Twinklbear and me, a transition period. We had by that time, finally moved forward from the period where we would ever consider leaving the other. The die was cast, the dice were rolled, the tea leaves strewn. Whatever analogy one uses, we were now committed enough to know, even if left unsaid, that “we” were now forever. Like “I love you,” we were not yet ready to verbally express “forever,” even if it was in the forefronts of our minds.
What prevented either of us from leaving the other at this point, was the recognition and admission by both of us, that the pain of living without the other, was simply too great to bear. It was not an option, no matter what else happened.
It was in June of 2016, when we said the hell with it, and began saying “I love you” to each other. I can’t tell you how liberating that was, for us! Oh, man! So great to be able to utter those three magical, little words to each other. Trouble was, the dam broke! Once liberated, we began repeating it to each other dozens of times a day, both of us intoxicated with the power and magic of the phrase. To this day, we still repeat it over, and over again daily.
Although we had been on each other’s mind constantly since January, our conscious selves were by June, drunk with the freedom to be able to express our obsessions, with each other. After all, isn’t being “crazy in love” an obsession by definition? We began asking each other repeatedly every day, “Are you okay?”—each of us making sure that the other was okay, and not getting “cold feet” (we still felt insecurity then)–as well as making sure about the physical safety of the other. This is true love, being so concerned with the welfare of the other.
Twinklebear and I have come a long way, since March 2016. From a place where I was guarded with my Honeybear, I now tell her everything. This is how close we are. We are the closest of lovers, Soulmates and confidantes. In our case though, the term “confidantes” may be inadequate, as I say repeatedly. There is nothing that we don’t share with each other. I am, guarded, no more.
I love you, Twinklebear.
Forever and a day.
SCOTT “SOOKYBEAR” WONG